Everything That Makes You(20)

Fi fell back in her chair, looking at Marcus. "You're-"

"Jackson's just being dramatic. As usual," he sighed. "I'm not dying."

Jackson flopped into the chair on the other side of the bed. Casually,  he propped his feet on the bed frame and tipped himself backward.  "Whatever gets you through the night, brother."

If Jackson would just leave, Marcus could explain everything. Trying to  ignore him, she asked Marcus, "Please tell me what's going on."

Marcus reached for her hand. She leaned closer and gave it to him. "I  should have told you. I'm sorry. I just-I didn't want to worry you and  there's nothing we can do until-well, until we can do something. So I,  uh, left it out of our conversations."

"You left it out?" she whispered back.

He gave the same apologetic shrug he used when he ate the last piece of  vegan, gluten-free pizza without asking, like these two things were  similar. "About four years ago, I got an infection. It was a fluke  thing, probably from food."

"Like food you weren't supposed to eat?"

"No, like food poisoning. I didn't have the food stuff till after I got sick. The infection kind of wrecked my immune system."

"Food poisoning gave you allergies?"

"They aren't allergies. It's intolerance."

Fi waved away the distinction, since it just didn't matter anymore. "What's this got to do with your heart?"

"Well, the infection didn't just wreck my immune system. It weakened my heart, too. The muscle. It's called cardiomyopathy."

"But-you're eighteen."

"It happens," he said, shrugging. "And it makes me short of breath.  Tired. Not very hungry. The food intolerance just seemed like an easier  way to explain it." He said this last bit with guilty, puppy-dog eyes.

"Easier?" Fi asked.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "I have a heart condition is really tricky."

Fi glanced to Jackson, too stunned to glare. She shook her head slowly back and forth. "I had no idea."

"Not very observant, are you?"

"Shut up, Jackson," Marcus said. He looked at Fi. "Don't listen to him. It's my fault. I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, quietly this time, regretting bringing Jackson into the conversation.

Marcus took a deep breath, his eyes on their hands. "When I got sick-I  mean, when it progressed to my heart and the doctors figured it out-my  parents flipped out. When the doctors said this all might have started  from food, Mom became Queen of All Things Organic. When they said my  immune system was weak, Mom and Dad pulled me out of school to reduce  exposure. You've seen how everyone reacts about hands and germs."

He pointed to Jackson, who maintained his cool expression during  Marcus's speech. "Even Jackson dropped out of school, so he wouldn't rub  up against any sick people."

"I didn't drop out," Jackson replied.

"Fine. He joined me in homeschool," he said.

"It wasn't just because of exposure."

Marcus took another long breath before looking back to Fi. His smile  looked falsely reassuring. "The past four years-before I met you-my life  was about avoiding. Avoiding certain foods. Avoiding overexertion.  Avoiding anything that could get me sick."

"But-" Fi paused, thinking through the information. "You don't avoid me. And I go everywhere."

"Yes, you do," Jackson answered.

"Can't you find somewhere else to be?" Marcus growled.

"Mom told me to wait here."

Fi noticed the IV tugging at Marcus's skin as he rubbed his temples, so  she gently pulled his hands back down. "It's fine. Just talk to me."

He smiled weakly, his thumb circling around the back of Fi's hand. "That  day at the coffee shop-I wasn't even supposed to be there. Mom sure as  hell was against it, but Jackson had been to their open mic night, and  it sounded fun. I'd been feeling good for a few weeks, so I just left  with Jackson before she could really get into arguing. And, well, you  know the rest."                       
       
           



       

Fi pointed at the bed. "Clearly I don't."

"I'm sorry. I know I should have told you, but it was so, I don't know,  refreshing being around people who just knew me as Marcus King, Fi's  boyfriend, rather than Marcus King, sick kid. It was like having a  different life." Looking straight at Jackson, he snarled, "It gets  exhausting, being surrounded by people who constantly remind me how  freaking fragile I am."

"Fragile's better than dead," Jackson said. He turned hard eyes on Fi.  "All that time he spent with you and your family. Do you have any idea  how dangerous that was?"

Fi blanched. "I didn't know. He never told me."

"I'm right here, y'all," Marcus said.

Fi looked back at him and, knowing she probably sounded like an idiot,  asked, "So, what's heart failure exactly? What's that mean?"

"It means his doesn't work anymore," Jackson answered. "He needs somebody else's."

"And then he'll be better?"

Jackson let his chair fall back forward. The wood legs made a crack  against the tile floor. He leaned over, his forehead in his elbows, and  spoke facing the ground. All the sarcasm left him. "That's the theory."

"Again, right here," Marcus said.

"Yes," Fi snapped, suddenly furious at her perfect boyfriend. "But you don't tell me anything!"

Jackson looked up at her. His green eyes were bloodshot and shadowed. For once, he looked more exhausted than annoyed.

He was right, she'd been clueless. All the signs! How Marcus couldn't  walk far without getting out of breath, how thin he was-and getting  thinner, she hadn't failed to notice. How much he slept.

Someone grunted from the other side of the heavy door, which jerked  forward once then fell back closed. On the other side, Mrs. King  snapped, "Jackson, help me!"

Jackson opened the door, and Mrs. King walked in, her arms full of books  and magazines. Nudging most of these into Jackson's arms, she turned to  the bed. Once she noticed Fi, a slow, creeping smile appeared from  sheer will. It was like an approximation of happiness.

Mrs. King's eyes darted toward Fi's and Marcus's hands entwined together  across Marcus's chest, and the smile faltered. Fi wondered if, over the  years, Mrs. King had learned how to see harmful microbes with the naked  eye.

"Fi, good to see you," she said. Sad eyes traveled down Fi ever so  briefly. "Your dress is lovely. We're so sorry about your prom."

Fi looked down at the bright, melon-colored dress. She felt ridiculous. "It's fine."

The door swung open yet again, this time pushed by Marcus's father. At  the sight of Fi, he stopped short, as his wife had. "Well, Fi, you look  beautiful."

Jackson looked just like his father-tall, dark, and broad-shouldered. Marcus was so thin compared to them.

Suddenly, Fi's hands started shaking, and her voice left her.

He was sick. But surely . . . was he really dying? Her entire body shaking now, she sank into the chair.

"Um." Marcus gave her a worried look before looking at his family. "Secret's out."

"We wanted him to tell you, sweetheart," Mrs. King said. "But he didn't want to-"

"Can I just go home now?" Marcus asked as Fi wiped tears from her cheeks.

"No, you cannot," snapped his mother. "You have to wait until Dr. Frank  releases you, which he will not do until the results come back on  Monday."

"I already told him that," Jackson said.

"If you would have mentioned something last week," Mr. King added. "When you started feeling off-"

"I told him that, too."

"Shush," Mrs. King said, smacking Jackson on the shoulder. Then she gave  Fi a worried look-and another forced smile. "Fi, I passed your parents  in the hall just now, and didn't so much as nod. Let Mr. King, Jackson,  and I go say hello."

She threw her purse back over her shoulder, grabbed her husband with one hand and Jackson with another, and left the room.

Fi stared at the closed door. She'd always assumed Marcus's family was  just over-the-top crazy. Turned out they were normal, and she was  under-a-rock clueless.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said.

The anger snuck up on her. "For what?" she snapped. "Being bedridden? Or lying to me?"

He clenched his jaw. "I'm not an invalid."

She pointed at the tubes surrounding him. "That's debatable."

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you," he said. "I eat some bad  chicken when I'm fourteen, and everything goes into lockdown. All these  rules and precautions-what I can eat, where I can go, how to wash. I'm  being slowly strangled by good intentions."